


is there still time to do this?

by sakurablossomcreamlatte



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Post-Episode: s02e20 Weirdmageddon 3: Take Back the Falls, Post-Weirdmageddon, this basically falls into the little talks-verse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-02
Updated: 2021-01-02
Packaged: 2021-03-10 18:34:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,823
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28491732
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sakurablossomcreamlatte/pseuds/sakurablossomcreamlatte
Summary: Post-Weirdmageddon, Ford receives an important reminder.
Relationships: Dipper Pines & Ford Pines & Mabel Pines
Comments: 17
Kudos: 77





	is there still time to do this?

**Author's Note:**

  * For [paperjamBipper](https://archiveofourown.org/users/paperjamBipper/gifts).



> belated happy Christmas to Cindy! I hope you like it ♡
> 
> (if you aren't familiar with my stories, this also more or less serves as a sequel to my other post-Weird story, [little talks](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24710437/chapters/59726188#main)!)

Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick. 

_That horrible multi-tonal voice rings out across a screaming sky painted in the colour of blood. “This party never stops! Time is dead and meaning has no meaning! Existence is upside down and I reign supreme!”_

Ford inhales, his fists tightening around the blankets. Existence is more or less now right side up and the constant ticking of the clock in the Ramirez family’s front room indicates that time is, thankfully, alive - as are he and his family. He holds the breath for one count, two, before exhaling into the quiet darkness...

...at least, quiet until Stan rolls onto his back and starts snoring. Ford grits his teeth and clenches his hands around the blanket a little tighter - not that he isn’t still awed in admiration of his brother’s selflessness and devotion, but it doesn’t change the fact that he still snores like a chainsaw. If anyone deserves the rest, though, it’s him. 

Grudgingly resigning himself to the fact that he’s probably not going to get much sleep tonight, Ford pushes the blanket off and slowly, tentatively hauls his aching body upright, fumbling for his glasses and slipping them on as he lets his eyes adjust properly to the darkness. Everyone’s (mercifully) present and accounted for: Dipper and Mabel are fast asleep on the sofa bed just in front of them, and Stan is next to Ford on the floor - amid a sizeable pile of duvets and blankets. Soos had attempted to give up his own bedroom to them at first, but when it finally clicked that perhaps the pair of them would rather be close to the younger twins for the night, the handyman had simply responded by collecting what had to be every single item of spare bedding in the house for them to arrange on the living room floor. It’s comfortable enough, and it’s both admirable and yet utterly unsurprising that Soos and his grandmother would take the four of them into their home while the Mystery Shack was still uninhabitable. 

_“I don’t think we’ve met,” Ford offers a hand to the older woman, before quickly withdrawing it and coughing into his fist. “I’m… Stan’s brother.”_

_“Yes, you are a Pines,” the woman evidently known to the rest of them as ‘Abuelita’ responds, extending her own hand to him. The lines of her face are soft and kind. “That means you are welcome here.”_

Weirdmageddon’s over, the four of them are safe and healing, Stan’s got his memories back and is sleeping beside him and they’re fortunate enough to be surrounded by good people. Ford knows he should be grateful - and he is, truly. 

And yet, he still can’t sleep. When he closes his eyes, all he can see is their undoing - the sheer heartbreak in Mabel’s voice, her anguished sobs ricocheting off the trees and echoing in the small clearing. Dipper, exhausted and battered, losing consciousness in Stan’s arms amid the frantic cacophony of their voices urging him to hang on - the two of them, sleeping side by side in a hospital bed with shadows under their eyes. Stan slumped on his knees as the rift closes and the swirling bloody sky turns itself inside out above them, his dazed expression as blank as his now empty mind - devoid of everything that’s made him the man he is, everything that makes him _Stan Pines, the man who saved the world._

They’re all painful in their own way, but the last one is arguably the worst of them all. 

Ford swallows as the memories settle like a rock in his gut, cold and heavy. If he’s getting any sleep tonight, he’s going to need some help. 

Bracing his arm against the back of the sofa, he slowly, carefully pulls himself to his feet with a wince - the nurses had been reluctant to let him sign his own discharge paperwork, but they’re just burns. He’s probably got some super-strength interdimensional ointment buried in the wreckage of the Shack. Thankfully the movement doesn’t disturb the kids; Mabel’s curled up on her side, facing her brother with one hand resting on his shoulder and her long hair fanned out across the thin mattress, and Dipper’s flat on his back with his wrapped arm draped across his stomach and his face tilted towards his sister, the ends of his fringe just brushing her forehead. It’s a sweet image, and for a moment Ford just stands and takes it in, watching their chests rise and fall in sync beneath the blanket. Beneath the bruises and bandages they look peaceful, and it’s a sight to be grateful for.

Grateful when he was the one to ignore the warnings and summon the demon that almost killed them. Ford grimaces and swallows again, heading to the kitchen. 

The light comes on with the flip of a switch and a buzzing noise, and he instinctively turns his head back to the living room with bated breath - but thankfully it doesn’t wake any of them, and Ford squints against the fluorescent glare searing through his lenses as he starts his hunt. 

There’s a promising-looking stash of glass bottles in the fourth or fifth cupboard he opens, intricately moulded and shaped surfaces suggesting they’re exactly what he’s searching for. Ford pushes the half-drunk rum, tequila and something labelled _guaro_ aside - and jackpot, there’s a bottle of bourbon, opened but at least three-quarters full. He takes it and fumbles for a glass in one of the other cupboards - ordinarily he wouldn’t be so bold as to shamelessly help himself to someone else’s alcohol, but it’s been a hell of a week and he just needs some relief. 

Just a little. 

Cautiously inching his way around Stan - the man could probably snore his way through a helicopter landing, but the impromptu nap Ford took at Dipper’s bedside that morning means he’s now, for once in his life, slightly ahead of his brother in the sleep stakes - Ford crosses the small living room, slowly and carefully opening the front door before stepping out of the house. There’s a set of concrete steps leading down to the patio, and he sits down heavily on the second, twisting the cap off the whisky bottle and filling the glass halfway before setting it down beside him. 

The stars shine brighter tonight. They always were bright in this town - at least, as far as he can remember - but now, there’s just an extra touch of luminescence against the velvety indigo backdrop the sky’s laid for them, and the moon hangs creamy and full above him with an opalescent glow. 

It’s beautiful, and Ford will never take it for granted again. 

There’s a lot he won’t - can’t, even. For years he was alone, single-mindedly driven by one goal, and then he was thrown back into this world where the stakes were suddenly so much higher because there were people to care about: Stan, the kids - hell, even Soos and Wendy. Even Fiddleford, with warmth and sincerity in those familiar blue eyes as he embraced him. It’s all so new, and the number of things he now has to keep close to his heart are almost overwhelming.

The bonds of a family. The lengths someone would go to because they care about you. The collective effort of a little town that fearlessly banded together to launch a rescue operation and stand up to a seemingly omnipotent demon - to save _him._ The reason he’s even sitting on these steps now; thanks to the earnest generosity from a truly altruistic young man and the kind-hearted woman who raised him, opening their doors to them - and him, just because of his family name. Because of his brother.

Stan. 

It’s all because of Stan, and Ford knows now so keenly, so viscerally, that his brother is invaluable - irreplaceable, worthier than any of them. The true hero. Staring into the amber depths of the liquid in his glass, he makes a silent vow to himself, the stars, the moon - and anyone else that might be listening - that he will never take him for granted again. Any of them. He has far too much to lose now. 

Raising the glass to the moon, he takes a sip and grimaces as it burns his throat in that achingly familiar way. It’s nothing like cosmic sand, but there’s something so reassuringly mundane about how it tastes, how he reacts to it. It’s so… human, and normal. 

(The fact that it helps dull the residual throbbing pain beneath his bandages isn’t a bad thing, either.) 

He’s lucky. Really lucky. He knows he is. 

And yet, there’s still an ache that gnaws in his chest. 

He’s about halfway down the glass when he hears the creak of the front door being opened behind him. Turning his head, he’s greeted with the sight of Mabel, her big brown eyes wide and a little anxious as one small hand fiddles with the hem of the oversized _GFHS AV Club ‘08_ T-shirt she’s wearing as a nightgown. 

“Grunkle Ford?” 

Ford simply lifts the glass, half-heartedly stretching his lips in an attempt to smile. “Evening, Mabel.” 

Mabel’s socked feet pad on the concrete as she comes to sit by his side. “Are you okay?” 

“Peachy.” Ford takes another sip, as Mabel stares at her feet. They’re tiny in comparison to his own resting on the step, and once again he thinks of her brother’s little hand clasped in his all those hours before. 

The kids are so small, they still have so much growing up to do, and yet there’s so much a man with twelve PhDs can learn from them. After all, pride comes before the fall, doesn't it? 

_"We used to be like Dipper and Mabel. The world's about to end and they still work together. How do they do it?"_

_"Easy - they're kids. They don't know any better."_

“You should be asleep,” he tells his niece. There are still shadows under her eyes, and dressings on her arms and legs. She looks as exhausted as he feels. 

“I was,” Mabel says. “Then I woke up, and... you were gone.” 

“Yes, well…” Ford lets the word hang in the air, swirling the rest of his drink in the base of his glass before tilting it in his niece’s direction. Misery does love company, after all. “What’s the drinking age in this dimension again?” 

Mabel just stares at the glass for a long time, eyes wide, before seemingly reaching a resolution. “....twenty-one.” 

So that’s out, then. “Ah.” 

Mabel looks up at him again, brow creasing above those warm eyes of hers, and it’s really difficult to hide from her gaze. “Are you sure you’re okay, Grunkle Ford?” 

_“Isn’t that what loving someone means, though?” Dipper asks, shifting his head against the pillow to look at him with those curious eyes, and the words are like a punch to the gut. “Like, that person literally means more than the world to you. I guess most people wouldn’t have the opportunity to take it literally, but....” he trails off, fingers of one hand toying with the blanket, but he doesn't need to say anything else._

_He’s right. When someone loves you enough, they’ll do anything._

The smile Ford offers her is real this time, if wan. “I will be, kid. It’s not something you need to worry about.” 

Mabel’s lower lip juts in a pout. “That’s not fair. What if I want to help you?” 

He puts an arm around her, pulling her in a little closer. The night air is cool against his skin, and he can feel how she’s trembling just a little bit beneath his arm. 

“The fact that you’re even here is more than enough.” He squeezes her shoulder, and she relaxes just a touch, leaning into his side. “Dipper and Stan, too.” 

Mabel just shifts her head to look up at him. “You’re not... feeling bad about all of this, are you?” 

_God damn it._

“Feeling bad about what?” 

For the second time that day, Dipper’s voice makes them jump. They turn around - and sure enough, there he is, scratching at the edge of the bandaging around his wrist and looking equally concerned. 

“Now you should _definitely_ be asleep.” Ford looks at Mabel again, who’s watching her brother like a hawk - probably to make sure he won’t collapse a second time. “Both of you should.” 

“I woke up and Mabel was gone,” Dipper yawns, coming to sit on his other side, and Mabel leans forward to peer at him anxiously. 

“I didn’t wake you up when I got up, did I?” 

“No, it’s cool,” Dipper waves a hand dismissively, and Ford instinctively puts an arm around his shoulders. There’s something inherently comforting about their presence on either side of him, like bookends. “Besides, I'm fine.” He looks at them both again, worry seeping into his expression. “Are you guys okay?” 

Ford’s about to open his mouth to tell them that everything’s fine and they both need to get back in bed, but Mabel jumps in before he can say anything. “Grunkle Ford’s feeling bad.” 

“Why are you feeling bad?” Dipper looks up at him, brows knitting together in genuine perplexion. “Weirdmageddon’s over, it’s all okay now. You and Grunkle Stan saved the world.” 

That’s true - but not before failing in his thirty year-long mission to finally take Bill out once and for all, leaving the fate of the universe in the hands of a twelve year old with probable anxiety, and then nearly almost getting all of them killed. He fucked up, massively, and Stan had to sacrifice himself for Ford’s mistakes. Dipper and Mabel are so smart, how come they both can’t see that?

“Why am I - Dipper, look at yourself!” He gestures to the hospital tag still encircling Dipper's skinny wrist, and the giant bruise on the side of Mabel’s forehead. “Look at both of you! You both got hurt, and that’s _my_ fault!” 

They don't say anything, but just look at him with matching nonplussed gazes, and Ford gestures again - this time to himself. “Bill! I’m the one who brought him into this world!” 

“Well… I guess,” Dipper agrees, at length, “but… did you know what was going to happen?” 

“I - well, no,” Ford concedes. “But it doesn’t change the fact that I’m the one responsible for it.” 

“Then, yeah, but you didn’t do it on purpose,” Mabel counters. “It wasn't like you didn't care what happened. You made a mistake. And people make mistakes all the time, don’t they?” 

“My mistakes almost ended the world, though,” Ford protests. "It was the literal end of the world." 

“My mistake almost caused a zombie apocalypse,” Dipper shrugs, and Ford raises an eyebrow before turning back to Mabel - as if she could shed some light on the situation. Was that from the spell he inscribed in the third journal?

Instead, Mabel just looks distinctly uncomfortable, drawing her knees to her chest. “...I... made a mistake, too,” she admits, biting her lip as she hugs her knees closer. “A big one.” 

Dipper cranes his neck to look at her. “Mabel, if it’s about… you know,” he trails off, expression softening. “It’s okay. I told you it wasn’t your fault.” 

“You guys still got hurt, though,” Mabel mumbles into the fabric of her T-shirt. “All of you.” 

“You didn’t know,” Dipper insists, reaching across Ford’s legs to take her hand, and now he has to know what’s going on. 

“Okay, either of you want to tell me exactly what you’re referring to?”

Mabel averts her gaze, looking shamefaced. “I….” he can feel her little shoulders rise as she fills her chest with air, and falling as she deflates. “I gave Bill the snowglobe thingy.” Her voice wobbles, cracks, as she buries her face in her knees. “I took Dipper’s backpack by accident - and he came, he was in… someone else’s body, and he told me he could make summer last forever. I didn’t know, I swear.” She looks up at him, chocolate gaze wide and pleading, and he jolts at the sight of her eyes welling up with tears as she bites her lip. “I’m so sorry, Grunkle Ford. It was my fault.”

Ford just stares straight ahead, fingers numb even as they tighten around the kids’ thin shoulders. So that’s how Bill got hold of the rift.

“I told you it wasn’t,” Dipper says fiercely, squeezing her hand, and something tightens around Ford’s heart. “Bill tricked you. You didn’t know what it was, and that was on me for not telling you.” 

Because Ford swore him to secrecy, burdened him with this knowledge, and told him to save the world. 

Of course. Nothing good ever came of secrets, and yet here they still are. 

“It’s… not your fault at all, Mabel,” his voice, when he finds it, is small. “It’s mine. It always was. You never asked for any of this.” 

“You didn’t know what was gonna happen,” Mabel protests, leaning even closer into his side, and the vice that’s seemingly affixed itself around his chest squeezes even tighter. “And you tried to stop it, Grunkle Ford, I know you did.” 

“I still put you in danger.” He feels the need to hold on to them, like this could be a dream and any second he might wake up to the horrible reality and feel them torn away from his grasp. “I didn’t even know I had a family, and coming back… it was something I couldn't have even dreamed of - maybe even the most precious thing to me, and I nearly lost all of you because of my own hubris.” There’s a lump in his throat, and he does his best to push it down as he looks at the two of them, who are simply staring up at him with those warm gazes of theirs. “I can’t change what’s happened, but.. I hope you both know how important you are to me, and how sorry I am. For everything.”

There’s a part of him that knows he needs to say this to Stan, too - but he and Stan go way back, nearly sixty years ago to a trash-littered beach in New Jersey where they both made their mistakes. Mabel and Dipper are entirely innocent in all of this, didn’t need to be involved, and still got hurt. Stan didn’t just save Ford; he saved them, too. And he knows that Stan's already saved their lives several times over, because they mean more to him than anything in the world, and Ford knows that if he was in his brother's shoes he wouldn't hesitate to do the exact same.

It's funny, what love can bring out in you.

For a while, the only sounds are the crickets chirping in the bushes and the occasional gentle night breeze rustling the trees - but the kids are still at his side, their small frames warmer than the burn of any whisky against his aching chest, and Ford knows he will never, ever take any of it for granted again. 

“It’s okay.” Mabel’s voice, when she finally speaks, is slightly muffled by the wool of his sweater. “It doesn’t make us love you and Grunkle Stan any less.” 

“Agreed,” comes Dipper’s murmur from his other side, and the wave of adoration for the two of them that rises in his chest is so powerful and raw that he wonders if it might just finally take his heart out with it. “We still love you guys - whatever happens.” 

The realisation that Ford doesn’t remember the last time someone even said that to him - _Ma, maybe?_ \- hits him with all the force of a bus. 

For thirty long years he pushed his emotions down, hid from them - they have no place in science, and all they brought him and his brother was misery. For thirty years he fled, focused only on survival and the chance to finally rectify this mistake that brought this all crashing down on him in the first place. Every time emotions were involved, someone got hurt. Ford knew he had no time for love, and that it had no time for him. 

Until now. It’s still such a strange and almost foreign concept. 

Ford bites down on the inside of his lip, closing his eyes in an attempt to will the stinging tears away - but it doesn’t stop him from pulling the both of them into his arms, holding them tight… and the two pairs of skinny arms come to wrap around his waist. Reciprocating. 

“Thank you, kids,” his voice emerges, trembling just above a whisper. “That means... the world.” 

“You don’t have to thank us,” Dipper shifts his head to look up at him. “We’re family.” 

“Yeah,” Mabel chimes in, and there’s just a trace of a sniffle. “Even if you made mistakes. We all did.” 

“Seriously, the zombie incident was, like, _really_ bad,” Dipper admits, at length. “I thought we were toast.” 

Ford sighs. “Again, probably my fault for including the spell in the journal.” He pauses. “Not that I expected it to be found by a twelve year old.” 

“Doesn’t matter,” Mabel says confidently, a smile spreading across her face in spite of the tears that were there seconds before. “We defeated them with the power of Love Patrol Alpha!” With the last part, she flings her arms in the air, narrowly avoiding knocking Ford’s glasses off his face, and a small amount of confetti explodes from her sleeve. 

“I never agreed to that name,” Dipper rebuffs quickly, but Ford’s just staring at the confetti fluttering to the concrete steps beneath his feet. This girl never ceases to amaze him. 

“Did you always…?” 

“Emergency confetti,” Mabel explains, like it’s the most normal thing in the world. “Never know when you’re gonna need some emphasis.” 

On Ford’s other side, Dipper giggles, and it’s a sound that makes the cool night just a touch warmer. “You’re crazy, Mabel.” 

_“You’re crazy, Stanley!” Ford’s laugh echoes in the dark cave, bouncing off the walls, and Stan hops up from the deck to give him a gap-toothed grin that almost shines brighter than the water lapping at the cool sand beneath their feet._

_“Yeah yeah, you won’t be sayin’ that when we’re sailin’ the world and gettin’ rich, Poindexter!”_

Well. It’s still not too late - time is mercifully alive, thanks to Stan and the kids. Thanks to the people of Gravity Falls. And Ford spent a long time away, but he’s here now, with them. His family; the people who love him, who he has the luxury of loving back. Time is alive, and he can use it to create a new story with them - one with a happier ending. Maybe they could still have their dream after all.

The time they have is a gift, and sitting here with the kids under the bright, twinkling stars, Ford knows he’s truly lucky to still have plenty of it left.

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading!


End file.
